Fears of a Fearless Warrior
by volley
Summary: Once the action is over, the doubts begin... Coda to Desert Crossing


Desert Crossing was a nice episode, except that IMHO it missed a final scene. If you asked me, it should have played out more or less like this...

Dedicated to Cappuchino, who asked me to write Trip and Archer.

Grateful thanks to RoaringMice, who after all these years hasn't got tired of beta reading volley stories yet!

XXX

There was a funny tingling sensation on his face. He must have fallen asleep in the sun and got--- Wait a moment, wasn't he on…

"Why don't you go to your quarters, Captain; I may have agreed to discharge you from Sickbay but you need rest."

"Thank you Doc. In a little while."

_Sickbay_?

"You are no longer in a desert; everything is under control."

_Desert_?

"I know that but... just a little longer."

"What if I promise to page you as soon as the Commander is awake, hmmm?"

A rush of information and memories flooded Trip's brain. He blinked his eyes wide open, and Phlox appeared in his direct line of sight, at the foot of his biobed. Before he could close them again, the Denobulan stretched his mouth into that oversized smile of his.

"Ah. Speaking of the devil," he said, rounding the bed and coming to stand closer to him. "An apt expression, in this case, if we are to believe that hell is that hot, fiery place described in some religious texts." With a chuckle, he produced a tricorder and started passing it over Trip's chest.

"Trip?"

Trip turned to the other side and found a troubled green gaze. Jon was sitting astride a chair the other way round, face propped up on his hands.

"Capt'n."

The word had been little more than a scratchy growl; as Trip cleared his throat, his mind vaguely registered the fact that his friend's face showed traces of the ordeal they'd been through.

"Are you feelin' okay?" he enquired.

"That's what I'm supposed to ask _you_," Archer said, with a grimace. He shifted, crossing his arms over the back of the chair, and heaved a deep sigh. "I'm fine."

"And so will Commander Tucker be, very soon," Phlox pronounced. "We're getting him re-hydrated, and his fever has already somewhat abated. A couple of days' rest should put him in good-enough shape to go back to light duty. Any pain?" he asked his patient directly.

"N… no," Trip stuttered, wondering if he should feel any.

"Ah. The analgesic I gave you is doing its job."

The intelligent blue eyes engaged Trip's attention.

"Aside from heat exhaustion, you got yourself quite a sunburn and a few bruised ribs, Commander," Phlox informed him. "Let me know if anything starts to hurt."

Trip's gaze tracked from the happy face of the ship physician to the pouch that hung from a pole on his left; he followed the clear IV line that snaked out of it, and found that it was feeding something into his arm. His sluggish brain began to put things together. "Peachy," he muttered. One thing he hated just about as much as a hot place was being laid up.

"Patience, Commander," Phlox blithely exhorted. "After the Captain leaves, I'll help you change into a robe." As he moved off, he added, in a very different tone, "I'll give you a few minutes, Captain. After that if I have to I'll order you to your quarters. You both need rest."

He disappeared – at least from Trip's view – and the removal of his buoyant presence left a detectable void. Trip looked at himself, realising for the first time he was still in his sweaty and undoubtedly stinky uniform, which told him they mustn't have been back for long; then turned to the other side of the bed, where silence reigned. Phlox was right – he mused, studying his C.O.: this was the face of a man who could use twelve hours of solid sleep.

"You okay?" Archer croaked out.

"Uh, I guess so. I feel as if someone's pumped my face up and... Well, not quite there yet – suppose it's the fever." Flashes of memories passed before his mind's eye. "How did we get out, in the end?" he wondered.

"Well, Malcolm and T'Pol..." Archer trailed and his eyebrows met in the middle. "Don't you remember?"

Trip tried to focus. Things were clear up to a certain point; then got fuzzy, and ended in a blank. "Last I seem to remember we were playin' some kind of game, and I think you were cheatin'."

A faint smile curved Archer's lips without reaching his eyes. Those eyes – Trip realised – bore into him as if their owner were unable to shift them.

"In the end Zobral helped, and Malcolm and T'Pol found us," Archer said. "We'd left that shelter, because..." Hesitating, he shrugged and quietly concluded, "Never mind. We're home."

"Yeah."

Trip shifted a little. He felt dirty and must have sand even where the sun doesn't shine. What he would like right now, if he could summon the energy, was a long shower. He wondered if he could manage to stay upright, and if Phlox would let him take it.

"I... promised you a memorable dinner," Archer said in a weak attempt at humour, "but I think we'll have to wait a day or two."

"Can't even _think_ of food right now," Trip drawled back. "I'll hold you to that promise, though."

"Of course."

Talking of showers, Archer could use one too; he too was still wearing the dirty uniform in which he'd been rescued. "How long have we been back?" Trip wondered.

Archer's eyes dropped for a second; then came back up. "Half an hour, more or less. You've been out for about an hour."

Trip took another, closer look at his lacklustre-sounding friend. Jon was obviously exhausted but... this didn't seem the same man who had taken charge of their dire situation and dragged his sore ass across half a desert. He'd known Archer for a long time, and there was something beyond tiredness in his voice.

"Are you okay?" he asked for the second time.

"Fine."

"You're beginning to sound like Malcolm."

"Am I?"

Was that a note of genuine hope in Archer's voice? Nah – Trip dismissed – his fever must be distorting his perceptions. "We made it," he said, shaping the words in a tone that meant 'that's all that matters'.

"We did."

"Capt'n?"

"I'm a bit... confused, that's all," Archer finally admitted, his face twisted in a wary grimace.

"Could be all that heat. Has Phlox taken a look at you?"

"Of course he has," Archer sighed.

Trip fought his weariness and pushed to sitting; fever or no fever he was going to get to the bottom of this. Archer helped him raise the back of the bio-bed, and Trip turned to adjust the pillow someone had kindly placed under his head when he'd been unconscious. When he was finished he collapsed back against it.

"What's wrong, Capt'n?" he enquired, trying not to let the bout of dizziness that was making his head spin show.

Archer's face creased again, as he croaked out, "You mean other than almost getting you killed?"

Was that it? Trip frowned. "Come on, Capt'n, you couldn't have---"

"... anticipated Zobral's real intentions, I know." Blowing out a breath, Archer went on to mutter, "You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now, though."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ever since Trip had known him, Jon had projected the qualities of a good leader: self-assurance and determination. Self-doubt wasn't part of his equation.

Archer's mouth tightened for a second. "I placed your life at unnecessary risk. I'm sorry."

Trip blinked. "Capt'n, are you kiddin'? You _saved_ my life."

"I didn't save your life, Trip. Zobral did; T'Pol and Malcolm did; they saved both our lives. I placed them at risk."

"You virtually carried me to that shelter; you found a way to boil that rank water and shoved it down my throat; you kept me awake with engineering puzzles, games and what else. Without you, I'd certainly be dead by now," Trip countered firmly. His voice had risen with the need to make his friend see reason, making his temples throb painfully. He closed his eyes for a moment. More quietly, he tailed, "I may have blurry memories after that, but that much I remember very well." When he looked again, Archer was shaking his head.

"You're lucky you have no memories of that missile coming straight at us," he said gravely. "When they found us, I was convinced we were minutes away from being blown up. And all because..." He heaved a deep breath, as if steadying himself. "Because that time I meddled into the business between the Tandarans and the Sulibans, and because I don't like to think, I don't want to accept that we ought to watch our backs with everyone we meet out here," he said tautly. "But I guess that'll have to change; _I_'ll have to change."

For a good minute, Trip looked back numbly, considering the words. "I like you the way you are," he finally blurted out. "You aren't a Vulcan, or an Andorian, or a Klingon. If you make a mistake because you're compassionate or trusting, it's because you're a Human. That's just fine, 's far as I'm concerned."

Archer straightened, and a measure of his characteristic determination returned to his frame. "Not if I risk getting people killed." His eyes narrowed. "You don't know what it's like to fear for your best friend's life because of some careless decision you've made," he said hoarsely. The green gaze became piercing. "I don't want that to happen ever again."

Trip was touched, even though he knew that there was more than met the eye: this was really the concern of a Captain for his crew, not only for his 'best friend'; Archer was questioning his approach to deep space exploration.

"We're new to this, and out here it's more dangerous than we had thought, Capt'n," he forced out. "But we're learnin'." Energy was quickly sapping out of him; it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open. "We'll be less meddlin' and more watchful, that's all. Doesn't mean we have to _change_."

The world finally disappeared behind the dark curtain of his eyelids.

"Yeah," Archer quietly agreed. "I'll have to learn to listen to Malcolm a bit more."

Trip felt a hand on his arm, and a light squeeze. "I'll see Zobral off and let you rest," Jon said.

"So next time you'll take Malcolm instead?" Trip drawled, mouth curving up. With a last effort, he cracked his eyes open again. "I doubt he'd be any good playin' Geskana."

Archer returned a lopsided smirk. "He'd have eaten the blood soup without flinching, though. He always eats what's put in front of him."

With another squeeze he started to move away.

"Capt'n…" Trip bit his lip, looking for a way to put his thoughts into words. The simpler the better – he decided. "Thanks for takin' care of me. You _were_ a fearless warrior down there. Wouldn't want to serve with any other Captain."

The green eyes mellowed.

"Doesn't mean I've forgiven ya for takin' me to that hellhole," Trip added, eyes closed for good now.

"That's…" Archer started, but an outraged voice cut him off.

"Captain, are you still here?"

The rest was lost to Trip, trickling away like sand through the wide mesh of his mind, as he willingly relinquished to the sweet pull of unconsciousness.

THE END

Looking forward to your comments!


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